


Ich Wiffe Men Myd Myne ſonge.

by solitariusvirtus



Series: Uncanny Westeros (Otherworlds) [17]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:09:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9787109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus
Summary: Even the most thorough of illusions can be shattered. But is the truth worth the price?AU! Sometimes life takes you to unexpected places, but only love can bring you home.





	1. I don’t know where the sun has gone

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pitter-patter of cool raindrops beating upon the roof called Jon out of his trance-like state. He yawned, half-covering his mouth, half missing the mark. He rolled onto his side and dragged the covers over his head, hoping to block the distraction. It was as hopeless a mission as could be, consider that rain was the last of his worries.

His ears were consequently assaulted by a series of knocks upon his door. The creak signalled his sanctuary had been invaded. “You know, lazy-bones, you might actually be half-decent if you put in the effort and not slept the whole day away.”

“Jon, I know you can hear me.” His shield was being tugged at by a vicious enemy, a banshee summoned from the deepest circles of hell, her claws dragging fiercely at his sole protection. “I’m losing my patience.” The tugging stopped. “Fine; I’m eating all those pancakes alone.”

The shield was dropped. “You wouldn’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “There’s only one way to find out.” A wink hit him directly. “Last one down’s a rotten egg.”

With that his sister took flight, not literally, leaving him behind in the dust. He grumbled, staggering slightly as he untangled himself from his covers and raced after her.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Jon, there are more than enough pancakes.” Mother pulled a face at him, her obvious warning not missed by Jocelyn who, unsubtly, for such a trait ran in the family, grinned wickedly, as if to swear she would make good on her promise. It would never be the case, obviously, but he refused to eat even one pancake less than she did. And she had a half-a-pancake advantage. “Jocelyn, stop provoking your brother.”

“I’m provoking him?” Jocelyn’s scandalised expression was savoured along with the sweet taste of strawberry jam.

“One day, the two of you will lead me straight to my grave. One would think at your age you’d have grown past these behaviours.” Still, that could not rightly be taken as anything but a bit of chiding. “By the by, the parent’s evening is tonight. I’ll be late, so I’m counting on you to take care of one another.”

“It’s alright, mother,” she spoke after managing to down a mouthful of pancake, “I won’t let Jocelyn burn the house down while you’re gone.”

“Awfully nice of you, but just to be certain, Jo, sweetling, no experiments in the kitchen.”

“It was one time, mother. One time.” One time too many, if anyone were to ask Jon.            

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It was both a blessing and a curse to be living so near to one’s school that the entire trip lasted no more than the fuzzy warm feeling one experienced on the brink of consciousness. Jon held the door open for his mother and sister, each giving him a smile as they entered. Before he could award himself too many pats on the back, he heard his mother’s voice urging him to hurry. “You don’t want to be late, do you?”

No. In fact, he did not want to be late. Not to the one class he found somewhat interesting. Jon nodded, ambling after his parent and sibling, allowing the door to close behind him with a small thud.

Jocelyn fell in step with him. “I’ll see you at lunch, right?” she asked, tugging on his arm gently.

“I’ll be there.” He did believe she would come around sniffing for him if he did not. That was quite possibly the most frightening thought. A chuckle left his lips. “That’s my door.” He waved to his sister as she walked the few-steps distance between their respective classes, with a wave of her own. And then he waited for her to have disappeared before doing the same.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

History, like the ancient worlds contained in too-short pages, rose and fell to the demands of time and the constrains of so exigent a system. Despite having been enthralled with the proceedings, Jon was not entirely sad to see the end of it. Today had been one of those off-days. He sighed and drummed his fingers along the top of his desk.

“Hey, Jon!” Benfrey waved a hand in front of his eyes. “Mate, can you hear me? Are you sick?”

“What?” Damn, he should have been paying the boy more mind, but he’d inevitably lost himself in thoughts of solace that he would never truly have to work until his back broke for some greedy lord. Just for some greedy company. Blessed soulless cupidity that never slept. “Sorry, my mind was elsewhere.”

“You don’t say,” the boy laughed. “So, can you show me what you got?”

Handing over the sheets of paper which had been carefully stapled together, Jon averted his gaze, opting to look at the raindrops trailing over the wide windows. Even with the fluorescent light, the gloom of the day was not banished.

“A perfect score,” Benfrey muttered. “I should have known. Wait, teach never said anything about this.” A hand rested upon his shoulder, demanding his attention.  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

   

“Ridiculous,” Jocelyn said, biting into her sandwich with gusto. A crimson slice of tomato fell on the table. “I hate tomatoes. Anyway, I would know if Jon studied. We live in the same house, Benfrey.”

“Don’t mean you’re attached at the hip. Say Jon, how long did it take you to read all that?” Benfrey could not help himself. Jon offered a benign smile and shrugged his shoulders. “Come on, man. You can’t leave me hanging.”

“Ben, it took me about as long as your Obscure Will campaign.” Benfery groaned, clearly not enthused at the thought. “Seriously, what are you on about? This is our last month in this place. One measly grade doesn’t matter.”

“You keep saying that, but the only subject you’ve ever floundered at was Music.” With a slight push, Jon found himself robbed of one of his fries. “Sometimes I don’t think you understand the rest of us, struggling in squalor.”

He laughed out right at that. “My mom’s a teacher. I would never hear the end of it if I didn’t do my best.”

“Face it Ben, you if spent at least half the time on your work that you do on a Will campaign you’d be just as good.” Jocelyn took a fry as well, nibbling on it.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Just don’t blow us all up,” he warned as his sister placed the food upon the stove.

Jocelyn rolled her eyes so hard he thought, for a brief moment, they might never return to their original position. Alas, his sister was set upon disappointing him. “Sometimes I want to hit you so bad.” She moved around him, lighting the fire with a match of all things. “This thing is so broken the gods themselves blessing it would not solve all its problems.”

He shrugged. Stoves were really not his area of expertise. Jon hauled himself to the table, dropping in one of the chairs. “She’s really late this time,” he observed, eyeing the grandfather clock in the hallway. “Maybe I should go wait for her.”

“In this weather?” His sister snorted. “Even with an umbrella, you’d be all soaked.”

“She’ll be soaked to the bone when she arrives.” Him pointing out such a truth had little effect.

“Yes, but maybe she can get a lift.” Not like it hadn’t happened before. “Really, mom would go berserk on both of us if we went. It’s only a stone’s throw away too. No need to worry.”

“Point taken.” He sat up, walking to the stove, holding one of the forks for her.  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Lyanna thumbed the stack of paper into perfect alignment. She then proceeded to even the lower edges upon the desk’s top. It had gone a lot better than expected. For once there had been no interruptions and little to no annoyance on the part of the parents. She considered whether it had to do with this being their children’s last year.

“All done?” Loren asked, his golden head poking through the gap left by a slightly ajar door.

“Almost. I still have to staple these.” She affected a sad face. “I imagine I’ll be done in a few more hours of hard labour.”

Loren laughed. “Well, I’ll wait for you–“ A voice from somewhere beyond him interrupted, asking a question she did not catch. Lyanna momentarily returned her attention to the papers, wondering why where there still parents about. Maybe a special problem had kept them. “Ah, yes. This is her class. Lyanna.”

One of her children. How dubious. “Don’t wait for me,” she told him, acting on reflex. “It’s not that far, I can walk.” Whoever it was, it must have been an urgent matter. But why wait that long?

Loren disappeared from the doorway, allowing a tall figure to take his place.

She gasped. “You–“     

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The coffee mugs stood on the table, thick stream stands climbing over the edges, flying towards the ceiling. Resembling a mute more than anything, she stirred her own beverage, trying to keep her mind on the melting sugar and off her meltdown. Or what she assumed to be a meltdown.

Her guest picked up his cup and took a small sip. “I am sorry to have taken you by surprise. I was so very certain my message had reached you.” At least he was being calm and polite and understanding. Her shoulders were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.

“This is rather unexpected.” Would it be rude to demand why he’d come? It would; after all he’d done for them too. “How very curious that I never got the message. Maybe it was misplaced.”

He shrugged. “That’s not really important.” On that they agreed. What was important was the bizarre reason which had brought him at her, for the lack of better phrasing, door. And that she could only speculate on as she took a sip of her own drink.

It was almost too hot to bear. She swallowed, her throat protesting the burns. Much too late to turn anything around. Lyanna forced a smile upon her lips.

 

 

   

* * *

 

 

     

“Seems they are asleep,” she noted softly, looking at her son and daughter. One of the controllers had fallen onto the ground next to a bowl of spicy flowercorn. The display still showed their latest score. Apparently they had moved up the rank. She smiled to herself, bending over to pick the bowl of corn and lift the controller as well.

She left for the hallway. “I’ll have to coax them into their beds now. It would be best to talk to them in the morning.” A nod greeted her proposal. “I’ll take this to the kitchen and you can avail yourself of the room at the end of the hall.”

He took the stairs one at a time, the cane he’d been using dragging slightly behind him. The old spiralling staircase gave a few moans and groans. Lyanna recalled her own mission and made for the kitchen, placing the half-empty bowl on the counter and the controller right next to it.

Rubbing a hand along her jawline she looked at the flowercorn with just a hint of despair bracing herself against the counter. “Why now though?” She wasn’t at all prepared to deal with any of it. “Well, that’s enough pity for one day.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Have some,” she invited her guest with an expansive gesture. “I wasn’t sure whether you would prefer this or coffee.”

“Tee is just fine,” he responded, steering sugar in as he poured the milk. She bit her lip, watching him covertly. Now that she thought about it, he was not much changed since she’d last seen him. And that had been a dozen years past. More than a decade. “This is good.”

“The blessings of a small community is that most of what we have, we’ve produced ourselves.” She drank from her own cup, gazing out the window. “Looks like it’ll continue raining. I wonder for how long.”

“Only the gods have an answer to that.” How benign he seemed in the diffuse light. But how very dangerous he truly was. “Do they always sleep in this late?”

“Every now and again,” she answered, half-amused at the subtle droop of his lower lip. “Last night was late for them too.”

“You never did try to curb their impulses.” As though playing games was an impulse. “Their records are exemplary though I imagine you’ve kept a close eye on them.”

“I try my best.” That was the only real chance they had, after all.  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Jocelyn rolled her left shoulder, tugging on her leggings with the free hand. The chilly air coming from her open window was met with a wrinkle of the nose and a murmur. She should have closed it after airing, but Jon had pulled her in his stupid campaign. She searched for her blouse, wondering where it hand landed.

A sleeve peeked out from behind a heavy armchair. “There you are.” Hurrying across the distance, she bent to retrieve the fallen garment and pulled it over her head. Warmth enveloped her. It was such a pity the rain showed no signs of letting up. One more month of school and she’d hardly worn her new dress.

Best leave it for better suited weather. With a shrug she picked up her comb. The mirror hanging upon the wall reflected a slightly tired-looking girl with a bird’s nest on her head. “I should just chop you off.” She’d be willing to bet her entire fortune that Jon did not have to deal with anything like that. But no pain, no gain, as the saying went. Thus she began combing through the tangles, wondering why she hadn’t simply braided it. A brilliant idea, although too late arrived to help anything.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

  

Surprisingly enough, her brother waited for her in the hallway, a finger held against his lips. Jocelyn raised one eyebrow at him, her manner regal. Jon cocked his head to the side and then rolled his eyes. “Can’t help being a stuck-up princess, can you?”

“Can’t help being a prickly troll, can you?” she retorted, joining her question with a grin. “Why are we whispering?”

“Because generally that’s what being quiet entails,” he explained slowly, wide spaces of silence between his words as though she were a child.

“Hardy har, but what are we being silent for?” It was not as though their home was under attack, was it? Jocelyn tried to listen for anything which would give the inkling of danger. All she heard was the house settling. “Did you have a bad dream?”

“Mother has a guest.” That gave her pause. It was not so much unexpected as bizarre.

 “Alright. Are we hiding from this guest?” Jon hesitated. Then he nodded. Then he shook his head. “Just let me know when you’ve made up your mind, brother.”

“We are scouting.” That was in no way clearer. “I think I know who the man is, but I’d rather be certain before we go down there.”

“Whatever helps you, oh brother mine,” she chuckled.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Jocelyn leaned against the railing, allowing her head to fall to the side as her eyes caught the sight of her esteemed mother. The woman stopped, gazing up at her. “You’re awake.” She nodded. “Is Jon up as well?” Again she confirmed through a nod. “Then you’d best come down, you two. There is someone here who wants to meet you.” Something brushed against her back. “Why are you standing there?”

“You never said there were going to be guests,” Jon answered petulantly, betraying more than simple disquiet at the situation they found themselves in. Mother shook her head and beckoned them down.

“There is no need to be rude, children. Come along, food’s ready and the company’s decent.” And that was as much of an invitation as it was an order. Frankly, Jocelyn did not care if the Titan of Braavos himself had come to see them.

“Being cautious is not a sign of rudeness,” her brother insisted. He brushed against her once more and this time Jocelyn turned and took him by the arm, leading him down.

“It is in this family,” she whispered to him after mother had made her way back in the kitchen. “Let’s see what this hullabaloo is about anyway.”  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The smoke from the ashtray was slowly being drawn towards the cracked window, but it was hardly enough for the smell to be washed away as well. Jocelyn bit into her toast. Eyeing the man who was looking at the two of them as though he’d expected more of a reaction. Likely as not she should have exerted herself when it was clear Jon was not going to, but she saw no point. Not until the whole tangle was a bit more less of a tangle.

“You’ve never visited before,” her brother pointed out, his toast held midair. Lucky for him it was not the sort that had been fried in oil. “Why the sudden desire to see you, grandfather?” Ah, the sheer distaste behind that one word. If words could cut, the man would be lying on the floor bleeding.

“Jon,” mother admonished. “What matters is that he’s here now.”

“No. Let the boy speak his mind.” Resting his chin in the palm of his hand their grandfather leaned in. “Well?”

“First off, my name is Jon. Secondly, you’ve had fourteen years to mend fences. It strikes me as off that you’ve had a revelation only now.”

“What a suspicious mind you have.”  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“She really is dying,” their grandfather assured, holding up a hand when it looked as though Jon wished to speak. “I know you have no reason to care. And I am fully aware you might dismiss me anyway. But I had to try. She wants to see you, all of you, before she goes.”

That was saddening. Not for grandmother, although Jocelyn supposed the woman felt miserable, but for mother. There was an old picture-nook she kept in her bedroom. It was filled with pictures of not only Jon and her, but of the family she’d left behind to settle here.

“Of course we’ll come with you. The children will want to meet their grandmother.” If she was anything like grandfather that might not be exactly true, but Jocelyn could not bring herself to protest. “Are my brothers there?”

“Only Ned. Brandon will be arriving soon and Benjen I’m unsure of.” Jocelyn had heard all these names before. Uncles whom she’d seen only pictures of.

She glanced towards Jon. He too was looking at her. They continued to stare at one another throughout their mother’s exchange with her own father.

_We should give them a chance. How bad could it be?_

 

 

   

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rock bottom, bros. Frankly, I just wanted to write something a little less dramatic.


	2. It darkens all around you, Jon

 

 

 

 

 

 

“What do you think about this one?” Jocelyn held up the dress for her brother’s inspection. Jon, in typical Jon fashion, shrugged, not even deigning to look up from his reading material. “Don’t you care even at least a little bit how we’ll look on arrival?”

He pursed his lips slightly but still refused to look up as he mumbled a reply, “It doesn’t matter.” The page turned with a soft whooshing sound. One of his legs stretched forward, nearly touching her. Jocelyn folded the dress in a neat bundle.

“Of course it matters.” At that he did offer her a brief glance. “This is the first time we’ll see our aunts and uncles and cousins. We have a lot of those. Aren’t you excited? So many new people.”

“You already know I’m not a people’s person.” She sighed. “Besides, if they wanted to be part of my life they’d had fourteen years. What’s stopped them from seeking us out? It’s not like we live on top of a mountain surrounded by moats filled with eels and snakes and whatnot. Face it, these are not people who care about us.“

“You don’t know that.” Alas, he did have a fair point. Fourteen years was a long time.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Her head rested against the window, eyes wandering over the rolling hills. One of her hand was coiled around the small scryer she’d been using for at least half her life. Her other hand was in Jon’s who, despite the constant back and forth of the car managed to pursue the adventures of his favourite character of all times. In fairness, it must have been the sixth or seventh time he’d read the book.

She turned her head to face him. “Where are you now?” She’d read the book too, when he received it for his nameday. It was not that difficult to call to mind the narrative.

“Seventh chapter,” he answered, turning the page. “The bard had just entered the lord’s keep.” The fox has entered the pen. She smiled and nodded her head. And speaking of pens, “Has Lord Cob made his conquest yet?”

“Ser,” Jon corrected. “That’s in the next book.”

“Is it? I’d forgotten.” Her attention was diverted by the car drawing to a close. Looking around her mother’s chair she could make out the wide bridge in the distance. “How long will passing through Winter Town take?”

“Depends,” grandfather answered, starting up the engine again as the column began to move. A huff from Jon stopped her from further pursuing the matter.   

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The old keep was the ancient part of the house, used to display suits of armour, weapons, tapestries and whatever else had been dusted off since she’d last read a catalogue of medieval artefacts. “Look at that tower. It looks like it’ll fall over.”

Jon cocked his head to the side following the slant. “No. The angle is not wide enough. See that shadow though? I bet it’s great during summer to always have some shade.” Unlike their summers which were filled with sweltering heat., the sort which translated to fooling around with a hose in hand and spraying too much water on mother’s flowers.

The new wing, more in keeping with last century’s architecture, still retained some of the grandeur, though little of the strength. Still, it was a handsome enough building and the wolves sleeping upon the steps certainly afforded the structure personality.   

“Never mind the flowers. I wonder how many spider webs we could find there.” And not to mention how many secrets. The thought was enough to make her giddy.

“That place has been empty for hundreds of years,” their mother cut in, steering the both of them towards the main entrance. “And neither of you should go there. The wood is all rotten. And who knows how much weight it holds these days.”

No matter. Jocelyn was already planning. She beamed at her parent.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“So much for a warm welcoming,” Jon muttered under his breath as the collection of eyes which had turned all at once towards him and his sister, rather like a weird hive-minded family, scrutinised the both of them with unquiet interest.

He was equally interested, of course. Not so much in the eyes as in the faces. Friend or foe made much a difference. Thus Jon affected his best uncaring mannerism and lifted his chin a fraction, more than enough to send the message.

The raven-haired woman who had been in the middle of saying something when they’d entered cleared her throat. “Good-father, we were not expecting you back so early.” Nevertheless, she stepped towards the man, her smile presented to all four of them. “And Lyanna, I believe.” Curious. She was not well acquainted with mother, although she was her brother’s wife. Jon raised one eyebrow at that. “These would be the children?” Jon regarded her with caution.

“In the flesh.” Grandfather motioned with his hand.

It was then that the man at the end of the room climbed to his feet, putting out his cigar with a careless motion. “Ned. Ashara,” mother greeted.

“We are so glad you could make it.”   

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“A bunch of liars.” Even Jocelyn had felt stifled in the company of their kin, as evidenced by the fact that her professed enthusiasm had leaked through a crack in her careful façade and was now nowhere to be found, even as she sieved through her garments. “And that git. What a great cousin to have around.”

“Sansa seemed nice.” When she bothered to get more than a word in. But that was more towards her mother or father. Not directly at Jocelyn. “Honestly, Jon; we’re the new kids, as it were. You can’t expect them to just roll with it.”

“I can and I do. I think this has nothing to do with our grandmother.” He picked up her empty suitcase and placed it on a high shelf in the closet. “And the way that man was looking at mother. As if her mere presence was a slap in the face.”

“That man is our uncle. And he’ll come around. It’s been fourteen years. There’s bound to me some things that have accumulated.” He snorted. “They’re not that bad. No one tried to poison our tea yet.”

“Don’t give them the chance.” Jocelyn nodded, having finally settled on her outfit.

       

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Supper was a horrendous affair.

Did the rich and wealthy have nothing better to do than shove their fortune into other people’s faces? And on top of it do so with a slightly apologetic mien as though they were sorry that lesser human beings were presented with their absolute satisfactions in life?

They probably didn’t. One of Uncle Ned’s precious children was busy sneering at the middle girl, Arya, was it not, while the babe of the family was being fed his favourite mashed beets. Jon looked at his plate, not entirely certain if he wanted even a bite of what looked to be delicious food. He might vomit it all out.

He reached out for the bowl of mashed potatoes at the same time as Robb. On the one hand, he wanted to snatch it away. On the other hand, he was entirely conscious mother counted on them to make nice with their cousins. For whatever reason, she liked these people. He retreated.

Better safe than sorry.

“It must be so very nice to lead such a quaint life,” aunt Ashara said. “A lot less,” she paused, “hectic, I should think.” A lot less.

“Don’t.” Jocelyn’s warning kept him in line. “Just enjoy the roast beef. It’s good.”     

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Grandmother was, to put it nicely, a vegetable. The woman lied in bed, staring at the ceiling above her. There was not a movement to be had of her. “She’s in one of those states,” grandfather explained. “Won’t say a word. But she hears well enough.” He nodded gruffly at his daughter.

Mother nodded back and walked closer to the bed. She leaned over and hugged the thin old woman. “Mom, I’m here. I’m back home.” Jon gulped. This was not home. Not their home. Jocelyn squeezed his hand. “I brought Jon and Jocelyn with me. They are so big now. You wouldn’t recognise them.” She glanced at them over her shoulder.

Jocelyn reacted quicker, as she was wont to do. She took mother’s place and placed a soft kiss on their grandmother’s cheek. Then awkwardly drew back, allowing Jon to follow her stellar example. He hesitated until he felt something dig in his lower back.

Knowing there would be no escape, he struggled to carry through with the pretence. What a stupid thing.

Once done with his task, he returned to Jocelyn’s side. They watched as mother sat on the edge of the bed.

“Let’s give them some time. Come along, children.” Teeth gnashing together, he followed grandfather out.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

His scryer went off with a shrill cry. Jon picked it up and flipped it open. “It’s late, Ben,” he said, peering blearily at his friend’s face. Did he have no sense of self-preservation?

“That’s a mood you’re in,” Benfrey returned. “Did you check the Will scores?” Jon shook his head. “You fell on fourth place. I’m third. Finally.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts. Once I’m back you’re returning to your place.” Not that the thought gave him much pleasure. He blinked at the light from his screen. Benfrey rolled his eyes and waved his hand. Over his shoulder a screen was lit with vibrant colours. “Piling your score for dark days, are you?”

“Dude, just plug in from there. Don’t tell me there is no way to do it in a fancy place like Winterfell.” Same old Benfery. “Say Jon, why do you look as if you want to kill someone?”

“I’ve been here for one day. It blows.” And he was going to run out of moonstones if he kept Ben on. At the same time, he did not want to end the conversation yet. “This place is fucked up.”

“I’m all ears, mate. Just let me pull the plug on my campaign.”   

 

 

 

* * *

  

 

 

“Jon. Hey, Jon. Are you asleep?” Well he was not. Jon rolled on his back and glared at his sister. “I think you should see this.” He blinked. “Come on; we’ll miss it otherwise.” It was the middle of the night. Had she gone mad?

Unwilling to provoke anything which might land them in trouble at this hour, he followed her out of the room and crept along the darkened hallway. Jocelyn pointed to the lower level of the house. Light was coming from behind the cracked door. “I think we’ll find out why we’re here.”

“Unless we’re found out. And then we’ll be out of here fast.” And that was not such a bad thing. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more he enjoyed the possibility.

“Just keep quiet,” Jocelyn instructed, dragging him along down the stairs. Thankfully, not even one stair creaked. A testament to the hardy wood. Jon would remember to thank the god for it later.

Along with the light came the voices, and the words, and the secrets he was not at all sure he wanted to hear anything of. Just his luck. He had to hear every last word. He’d remember that too.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“You’re exaggerating,” Lyanna said, trying not to let her brother’s expression bother her. “It’s not like I’m the first girl who went through anything like it. And things turned out well.”

“Except that part where Brandon had to take the fall for you.” Well, it was good to know that some things never changed. “Do you have any idea what that cost him? No; of course you don’t. You don’t even care.”

“That’s not fair, Ned. I did the right thing as soon as I found out.” He would keep at it though. Her brother was not the sort to give up halfway through. “Maybe try to see this from my perspective.”

“What perspective is that? The spoiled brat?” There was nothing really she could say to that. As far as Ned was concerned, she was guilty. As far as she was concerned, she was guilty a well. “It’s a wonder he agreed to come at all knowing that you’d be here.”

“Ned, it’s been fourteen years. If Brandon found the wherewithal to forgive me, maybe, just maybe, it’s not your job to be perpetually offended on his behalf.” Sound as her words had been, her sibling replied with a snarl.

“You are the last person I’d take advice from.”

“And you are just as unforgiving and inflexible as you ever were.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

They had managed to corner mother sometime during the day. She’d been sitting with her mother. But Jocelyn was a clever and sly thing. She’d worked around that. Thus Jon was left with the task of starting the confrontation.

“What is this about? Mom just woke up and she seems in the mood for some conversation.” There was a smile on her face, for all it was strained. He could not look away.

“We don’t have to stay here. And we don’t have to help with a godsdamned thing.” A brilliant beginning. “Why would you even want to talk to these people?”

“Jon. None of that please.” He scowled. “They are our family. And this is difficult for everyone. Have some patience.”

“Patience? For what? Some judgemental assholes to embrace us in their circle? You’ll get part of the inheritance anyway. ” She gasped and Jocelyn waved her hands in a bid to put an end to it. But they’d arrived to this point. No use in stepping back.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. And these people are family. That’s all you need to keep in mind. Let me take care of the rest.” The steel was there. No headway his way came.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“You don’t know?” Jon was contemplating planting a facer in the smug bastard’s face. “I guess she never would say a thing to you.” Robb gave him a long look. “I could though.”

“We don’t need you to,” he assured their cousin as Jocelyn attempted to do the exact opposite.

“But maybe he does know something.” She attempted to move around Jon, which he allowed until she’d plopped on the bench as well. “My brother doesn’t like you. But I think we could get along well just fine.”

“That is not true. I don’t not like him.” If fact, if he had to term it, Jon would proudly place his cousin in a category all of his own. “I just prefer not to be anywhere near him.”

“Can I at least know what heinous crime I’ve done against you?” Robb asked, pushing inky locks away from his face. “I mean, other than simply being here.”

“You’re a prick. And I don’t like your face.” He glowered at the boy.

Robb applauded mockingly. “Such excellent argumentative power. I am flabbergasted.” He stood. “I don’t like your face either. Maybe I should do something about it.” A strong shove upset his balance, nearly sending him down on his arse.   

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“You’re way nicer than your brother,” Robb told Jocelyn, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Leave my sister alone” he gasped, still not having caught his breath. At least he didn’t feel as murderous as before. “Jocelyn, don’t fraternise with the enemy.” His sister laughed, plopping down between the two of them.

“Robb’s not the enemy. And he offered to help, despite you being the way you are.” She patted his arm condescendingly.

“What in the gods’ grace is that supposed to mean? The way I am.” He pushed her hand away.

“The way you’re being. Stop it. So, mom has a past. And people are pissed. Maybe we’d have a better time of figuring this out if we heard the whole story.” Why was she being reasonable about it? He was counting on her not to be reasonable about it.

“Maybe we should be hearing this from mother, and not this prick.” He jabbed his finger into Robb’s arm.      

“And maybe you’ll never find out what happened. Get over it; I smashed your face in.”

“In your dreams. But then, you don’t have a mirror on you. Guess I should let it slide.”

“Both of you should let it slide. At least.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Right, so Uncle Brandon tried to get a hold of the guy and explain everything, so they’d at least work something out. Apparently, he was some big shot or whatever from and wouldn’t stand for it. They buried the thing completely and, just to make sure no one would ever bring it up, took care of uncle. His fiancée at that time, Barbrey, she was named, decided that was a good enough reason to do him one better and give a very public break-up speech.” Robb nodded as if to strengthen the points he’d just made. “My father can keep a grudge for a good number of years. And I can’t stray far, with how mother is that would land me a moon turn of turnips.”

“So why are you even talking to us?” Jon jabbed, unable to help himself.

“Because unlike my father, I don’t have beef with you. Uncle Brandon would be mad if he wanted to be.” The boy shrugged. “Anyway, I thought you should know. And now you do.”

That they did. “It’s not like we can do anything about it though. Unless you also happen to have a time machine we could use.”

“You’re out of luck. Just gave my last one to the homeless guy living under the bridge. He said he’d be off fighting White Walkers.”         

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“They were just boys being boys,” she protested, clashing with her brother yet again. “No one’s in hospital. No one was injured. Get over it, Ned.”

“Get over it?” He was being a bit melodramatic. It was a split lip, not a gushing hole through the chest. “Have you seen his face? If your son can’t control himself–”

“That’s rich. Have you seen my son’s face? How will I explain that away?” This was getting out of hand. “Maybe you should teach your boy some manners.” He raised his hand, and for a moment she thought he might actually go through with the threat.

“You have some nerve. Telling me how to raise my children. For once in your life, admit to being in the wrong.” She rolled her eyes. “Not that again. You always do that.”

“You’re always being a pain,” she answered. “I’ll return the money, so leave off. And I’ll admit to being wrong when I actually am.”

“Right. That’ll be the day.” Just like him to not believe her. She sighed. “Maybe if you were more reliable, I’d have some hope.”

_How was she supposed to survive an entire two weeks of this, she truly did not know._

 

 

   

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, let me know what you think.


	3. You’ve shaved your head and sold your drum

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Playing Will, I see.” Jon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. That particularly heroic endeavour was only slightly blemish by the fact that his hold on the scryer tightened. The couch dipped with the additional weight. “Not a bad score, mate.”

Jaw working, he turned his eyes to Robb. “First off, don’t try playing cute with me. I didn’t begin liking you suddenly or anything like that. Second off, weren’t you supposed to be doing something else today? Other than being a pain, I mean.”

“Touché. Look, I’m sorry father blew it out of proportions, but I already told you, I don’t carry grudges. Awfully burdensome.” He leaned in, no doubt reading the scores and trends. “That’s quite the fall you took. You can use my P.E. if you want.”

It was an offer. It seemed sincere. He could raise his scores. “What do you want in return?”

“A small thing really.” Robb handed him a piece of paper. “I want these coded.”

Jon investigated the scrawled codes, noting that whoever had written that down was probably missing a few fingers. “Why would you want a l.e.e.c.h.? Let alone one so powerful.”

“Let’s just say that I’m a man of mystery.” 

“More like looking for an arrest warrant. Fine, I’ll code the l.e.e.c.h.” 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 “I still don’t get it,” Jon muttered. Not that he truly wanted to, but at the same time he was rather curious about it. Having been born more than five minutes past, he was well aware that designing l.e.e.c.h.es could earn him a lot of grief. “Are you truly insane?”

“Not really.” Which wasn’t much of an answer, but it seemed the mental problems of his cousin would be kept under careful lid for the time being. “If you do well, I might tell you what it’s all about.”

“Such a tempting offer. But I’d rather stick to playing Will.” He checked on his pet project as the numbered were sequenced. “I swear, if this is only so you can prank some unsuspecting soul, you’ll find your PE a lot less safe than you thought.”

“Easy there. I already told you, you might get a few answers if you do it right.”

“I already told you,” he answered in the same tone of voice, “that I don’t care.” Besides, he already had everything he needed. Jon supressed a small grin as the l.e.e.c.h. finished loading the veritable wealth of information. Let his cousin enjoy the illusion of winning.

He would, likewise, enjoy his own victory. “Here’s the thing,” he waved at the display, wondering whether he should have put more effort in that delivery. “Can I go on to my Will now, or is there more?”       

   

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“You walk awfully fast,” Sansa huffed, leaning against the fence. “How aren’t you falling over?”

Jocelyn shrugged. “Country life, you know. Keeps you in shape and all.” Having a brother helped as well. But then Sansa was fairly younger. It was doubtful that she was as close to Robb as Jocelyn herself was to Jon. “Maybe if we did this everyday.”

“No thanks, I’ll pass. I’m not planning on joining any competition soon.” Sansa straightened herself. “Well, this is the top of the hill.” Not that it helped very much; with all the trees surrounding them, there was very little to make out. “Is this all you hoped it would be?”

“And then some,” Jocelyn laughed. She looked about with interest, mulling over how to approach the situation. Meantime, she let her mouth run free. “Must be nice living in King’s Landing all year round.”

“It’s not really all year round,” Sansa said. “I come here every summer, unfailingly; even when I don’t want to.” Like at the moment. Jocelyn glanced over her shoulder. Sansa was kicking the dirt. “If it weren’t for grandmother, I’d kick up a fuss. At least back home, I’m not stuck with mother hovering over my shoulder all day long.”

“I think all mothers are like that at some point.”

“No way. My aunt is living proof. Has she even asked you where you were heading?”

“I’m fourteen, Sansa.”

“And your point is?” 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

They were probably lost. “No, this is definitely not the way back,” Sansa said, pointing towards the mound before them. “This was not there before.” Jocelyn nodded her head. “Walked in a circle, I think. Let’s just trace our way back.”

“Easier said than done,” she commented back. But still, there was no rain and she was pretty sure she did know which was the right road. Or at least the one which would lead them to other human beings. “Did you hear that?” She stumbled over the protruding roots of a tree.

“I can’t hear a thing.” Sansa appeared at her side, lifting her scryer overhead. “Look at that. My mapping’s working now.” And it was taking some time to find them. Jocelyn smiled at the stroke of luck.

A yelp struck out from somewhere ahead.

“I heard that though.” They turned towards the probable direction of the source. “You’re older. Go ahead.”

“Fine time you picked to show respect to your elders.” She stepped forth, climbing over the formation. It took a few minutes to see anything, but before long her eyes caught sight of a lone figure lying on the ground. “Is that–“

“A wolf.”

It definitely was that. “It looks hurt.” And its mother was likely close by, waiting for the sucker that fell for it.

“Maybe we should help it.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Lyanna moved around Ashara, reaching for the plates. Did they truly have to put them way up there? “I didn’t expect the rain to let up,” she said, somewhat strained. While her good-sister was not anywhere near as vocal about her brother about how she felt, it was clear she wasn’t filled with joy. But then in her place, Lyanna wouldn’t be either.

“Yes. Maybe we’ll have a bit of sun soon.” Water was spilled on the floor. “So, what say you we go to the market later on? We could buy some parsley.”

“That’s an idea. We’d better make a list though.” The gods only knew what they’d leave out otherwise. “We’re out of tomatoes as well.”

“I’ll check the larder,” the Dornishwoman offered. She passed the glass she’d been holding to Lyanna, who very nearly dropped it, having not expected it to be full.

To be fair, this was slightly better than what she’d expected. More to the point, she was growing used to being back here again. Not that that was very difficult. “Great. I’ll get a pen and some paper.” She abandoned the glad to the stable care of a flat surface and saw to gathering the needed objects.  

 

       

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It was actually rather cold. Jocelyn looked at the two puppies, trying to not allow the sight to tear at her heart. “I wonder how many more of them are scattered about.” And where in the blue hells was their mother? They’d been searching the area for some time and she was trying to get the feeling back in her fingers.

“Litters can number lots,” Sansa offered, cradling the makeshift basket. “Maybe if we tried a little farther off. These are just babes, so they couldn’t have walked that farther off, right?” It did sound plausible. Jocelyn nodded, eyes falling upon a little side path.

It looked promising enough. They took their time searching the grounds. Thankfully, as  most young tended to do, the presumably kith and kin of the fur balls Sansa was so graciously carrying let them know in no uncertain terms where it was that they needed to look. Which was truly a blessing as it seemed to Jocelyn that the grounds were becoming more and more familiar. Or, at the very least, she could make out, somewhere far ahead a string of smoke, indicating that they were on the right path.

A relief of the most heart-warming kind.       

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“That’s just sick!” Sansa stepped backwards, allowing Jocelyn to walk around her and peer into the small hollowed out space. It was a tight fit, given the wolf had probably been starving. If she pressed down onto the ground she could crawl to the pups and pull them out from under the dead weight of their mother. “Why would anyone do something like this? Hunting direwolves is against the law as far as I know.”

“Who know?” She reached for the first of the little ones. It licked and bit at her fingers, tiny needle-like teeth prickling along her skin. “Easy there, I’m trying to get you out.” Her hand lifted some of the weight from the body of the pup and used the other to drag him out. “Here’s another one.”

And so the two of them worked on freeing the puppies. It took some time to find them all.

“I think that’s all,” Sansa said. “This is growing heavy.” And not to mention cold. Jocelyn nodded. “Well, stand up then. We’re going to be here until nightfall otherwise.”

“I hear you, I hear you.” She dusted herself off and rolled one of her wrists.

And another sound came from within the hole.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“We’ll be off then,” Lyanna told her father, leaning over to pull mother’s blanket up. “I imagine it will take some time, but I don’t think it’s a problem.” She took a moment to look into his face. But her father merely nodded her explanation away.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of this, daughter. We’ll talk some more after you’ve returned.” She sighed and glanced at her mother. A subtle smile on the woman’s face gave her pause. “Keep in mind that Brandon will be getting here any day now.”

“I know that, father. I don’t plan to run off into the night.” Her assurance did not seem to attract very much attention from the man. Still, she meant every word. Brandon would have more of her than he ever wished to, she imagined, by the end of two weeks. He never could abide staying too long in their midst, though it all came from a good place.

Spending too much time thinking about her brothers never landed her in pleasant places. “As I said, we’ll be off.” She started towards the door, intended to ignore all else.

“Lyanna.” Alas, she was not strong enough to ignore that tone of voice.       

  
   

 

 

 

* * *

  

 

 

“No way you’re grey_wind,” Jon snorted, looking up the last matches in the log. “My gods, I saw this one on stream. Brilliant use of blood magik. Have you reached Hranrad’s Woe yet?” Robb gave him a grin and a nod. “No. Don’t say anything more. I really want to know what it’s all about.”

“I’ll keep mum about the point of it, but I’m assuming you have seen the Sharer.” Jon answered in the affirmative. “Then you know the prophecy, don’t you?”

“By heart.” Any Will player knew the prophecy. Or maybe noobs didn’t, but that was another story altogether. “But the Sharer bows to the Sun. And the prophecy pertains to the Moon.”

“Haven’t you been paying attention? What did the Priestess say about the Sun?”

“That it shines with a light not its own? So what? That could mean anything.”

“Yes, but the Moon reflects the light of the sun simply put, so that means the Moon leeches light off of the sun. The Moon is the Sun.”

“Sure. And the Dreaded is actually the Prince Reborn. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“You’re assuming that just because the Necrolypse mentioned the Moon birthed the Dreaded, it makes him the Sun’s child.”

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Wait, wait, are those Sansa and Jocelyn?” Lyanna spoke louder than she’s intended, her face nearly flattened against the glass. It could not be. Her daughter would not have gone so far off. Her head banged against the glass.

“What?” Ashara demanded. A hand pressed down upon her shoulder and she moved out of the way. “It can’t be them.”

But it appeared to be them. They were carrying large bundles, holding them up to their chests. The thought of it rattled about in Lyanna’s mind as Ashara somehow managed to get them on the other side of the road without killing anyone in the process.

“Slow down. We don’t want to scare the living daylights out of them,” she muttered, holding onto her safety-belt.

It was Jocelyn who saw them first, of course, as she was the one closer to the road. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth, no doubt calling Sansa’s attention to the fact that luck struck. Or quite possibly a punishment which would not let up until at least one of them was married off to the highest bidder, sacrificed on the altar of political ambitions.

Lyanna blinked. She shook her head, who’d stopped completely in order to wait for the car.    

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“I can’t believe it.” Jon knelt by the large wicker basket and poked one of the sleeping pups. “And you carried them all the way to the main road?” Jocelyn confirmed, sitting down on the carpet next to him. “That’s surprisingly kind of you.” His sister had always been the cat-person to his dog-person, and mother had been the no-pets-they-leave-hair-everywhere-person.

“Those ears look close enough to a cat’s,” she offered by way of excuse, though they both knew it never boiled down to choice. “And I felt bad for these puppies. Without a mother, so very young. I don’t think for a minute they would have survived.”

“That’s just the way of the world,” he said, petting the head of the smallest wolf. “The vet will have a filled day.”

“As if. A few shots and they’ll all be off the hook.” She patted the white-furred creature as well. “Did you see the look on mom’s face? We’re definitely taking one back.”

“This is a dog, in essence.”

“I’m desperate enough that it’s good enough.”

He believed her. Jon chuckled and pulled out his scryer. “Take a still of us, won’t you?” He plucked up the barely-awake pup, holding it to his chest. “Let’s make mother’s heart melt.” 

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

“Absolutely out of the question,” Ned said, slamming down his cup. “These are not appropriate pets. Direwolves, really. There are reservations caring for them.”

“Unfortunately, your daughter,” Ashara told him, for once seeming at odds with her husband, “is determined that she’ll have one for a pet. Robb is very probable to steal one too, if not watched and sneak it into his room. Arya, I won’t even speculate upon. The only one who cannot really say a thing to this ultimatum is Rickon. May I remind you though, that he can cry.”

Lyanna watched them with interest. It was rather troubling to think her brother could be brought down so easily. In another sense, it was amusing and certainly satisfying. “I think I will keep one,” she ventured. “Jon and Jocelyn won’t ever let it go if I don’t. Come on, Ned; this is about the kids and they want pets.”

“A goldfish is a pet,” her brother pointed out, for the moment unrelenting. “A pet who is not likely to murder you in your sleep. And where would we keep them, Ashara? Do you want to build a pen for them in the yard?”

“That’s an idea. A pen in the yard would be just the thing.” She smiled at her husband and looked towards Lyanna, as if encouraging her to join in as well.

  
  

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Jon climbed into his sister’s bed, shaking her shoulder gently. Jocelyn murmured in her sleep. “Your darling is crying for its mother,” he whispered, shaking her harder. She came to with a start and, upon recognising his face, groaned lightly. “What; you’re the only one allowed to sneak into people’s rooms in the middle of the night?”

“Actually, I am more annoyed at you using our poor babe in your scheme. What’s wrong?” Jon passed the small weight of the pup into her arms. Jocelyn promptly placed it on her chest, stroking its fur. She yawned, not bothering to cover her mouth. “Where’s the fire?”

“Right here. Ta da!” He pulled out his scryer and the display lit up. “Our cousin had a request for me today. And I got to increase both my Will score and my knowledge.”

“What have you done? Are you playing with l.e.e.c.h.es again?” As though she’d not been proud the first time he successfully made one. Jon rolled his eyes.

“Not necessarily. I am just making sure the information is filtered. Look at all these categories.”

“It looks like he’s using your l.e.e.c.h. on someone’s work PE. I think this is a very, very bad idea. A strong no from me. Nay. Let us not.”

“Too late. We already have.”  

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“This is not an invitation,” her father said, having finally decided to put down his foot. Lyanna tried not to be extremely exasperated. “I have decided on this. Your debts will be paid in full and in return you will do as you were supposed to from the start and help your brothers.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to help my brothers?” she snapped. “Ned wouldn’t allow me to take hold of even one finger, let alone his hand. Benjen wants nothing to do with the family business and Brandon, well, Brandon is Brandon.”

“You made a mistake. It’s not the end of the world and certainly not the end of a brotherly bond.” She closed her eyes, pain pulsing at her temples. “Ned will come around. Brandon deserves more credit than you give him and Benjen does the best he can.”

“I am still not able to get over you calling my children a mistake.” Her voice was flat. Oddly so. Lyanna had expected she would exhibit a lot more anger. “I know they didn’t come under the best circumstances, but that is cruel, don’t you think so?”

“Facts do not care for your feelings,” her father answered. “And the mistake is on your shoulders as far as I am concerned.”   

  
       

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

The car pulled up in front of the house. Lyanna was still standing on the porch but by then she was leaning over the railing, a look of disbelief upon her face. Not so much because Brandon had come. But rather because Benjen stepped out of the car as well. Her youngest brother was eyeing her with a good dose of scepticism.

“What do you know? The prodigal daughter has returned,” Brandon called out, waving to her as his other arm wrapped around the waist of a tall redhead who had exited last from the car. “Looking good, sis.”

A laughter-sob escaped her lips. Lyanna jumped over the small fence separating them, rushing towards her siblings. Brandon caught her, because that was just like him to do. Trying to take care if everyone and everything. Benjen was strong-armed into the group hug after an appropriate number of seconds had passed.

When they finally separated, Lyanna turned tentative attention towards the redhead. “You are Catelyn, I take it.”

“What gave it away?” the woman asked, her face holding a facsimile of warmth.

“Cat, no claws; you promised,” Brandon warned. “This is my dearest sister.”

“I am your only sister, Brandon.”

“Precisely my point.”   

_This could go one of two ways: bad or disastrously bad._

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New addition. Lol, I'm really curious how many of you caught the references.


End file.
